


call me a sparrow and i'll fly

by preromantics



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filming and learning to see and learning to love and be. vaugely set in a beatnik era except where it's not. <i>shane tilts his head, angling in to capture the way the strings catch on the rough pads of brendon's fingers.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	call me a sparrow and i'll fly

**Author's Note:**

> Lack of capitals was intentional for the feel of the writing. Originally posted on LJ 8/21/08.

beginnings are always simple, if not sometimes rash and impulsive. shane studies the boy in front of him, waiting. he wants to make him his subject, his antagonist, his protagonist, whatever. his star without all the cliché meanings attached.

'sure,' brendon says, plucking aimlessly over his guitar, jumbled cords.

shane tilts his head, angling in to capture the way the strings catch on the rough pads of brendon's fingers. 'so, sure, yes, i can follow you around?' shane asks.

'you can follow me around, yes,' brendon nods, smile playing on his lips, 'i don't know why, dude, i'm not that interesting.'

'how many states have you been to this year?' shane asks, focusing on the small sun freckles that play along brendon's nose before panning out, his face set against a clear blue midwestern sky.

brendon shrugs, 'too many to count,' and stretches, settling his guitar along his back. his thin gray shirt rides up, and shane follows the hemline with his eyes, unguarded. 'want to get some food?'

'you are interesting, though,' shane says to his back, an afterthought when his brain catches up on the backlog. brendon skipjogs a couple of steps ahead of him, weaving through parked cars until he disappears into the diner doors where shane first saw him.

the molded plastic seats of the dinner push into the curve of shane's back, hard against his tailbone. it's not the most classy place. he watches brendon shovel down pancakes, syrup on the top of his lip and a big grin. shane plays his fingers along the strap of his video camera, but he's unsure of boundaries, of what he'll film when there aren't any boundaries, even.

this is an attempt for shane to film something worth while, something that will get him somewhere. something real.

brendon seems completely unfazed by the fact a complete stranger just asked to follow him around, like it didn't take all afternoon of shane wandering after him surreptitiously to work up the nerve to ask.

'so,' shane says, flicking the view finder on the camera open and closed under the table.

'these pancakes are spectacular,' brendon says around a mouthful. there are stripes of light on brendon's face, framing his eyes from the diner blinds and shane longs to capture them close.

shane buys them a hotel room, double beds, scratchy starched sheets, hard from midwest dust and smelling like earth from the clothesline out back. it can hardly be sanitary but at least its real. the type of real that isn't supermarket and city skyline bought, but organic and harsh reality. this is what shane wants in his life, anyways.

'this is nice,' brendon says, stretching out horizontal along the sheets. shane pans almost tentatively along his forearm and to his fist, lens watching as brendon fists the sheets, knuckles rolling.

shane murmurs his agreement, clicking on his lens cap with a small sigh and lying back. they both lay in comfortable silence.

'i really don't mind, you know,' brendon says, later, when shane is just on the verge of unconsciousness, even with the last strains of orange light still filtering through the window.

'don't mind what?' shane asks, kicking off his jeans in a rough slide of denim.

'you following me around with the camera, whatever it is you are doing, i don't mind.'

shane falls asleep, trying to frame shots of brendon in his mind from memory, wondering what his background will be the next day and the day after that.

in the morning shane stretches languidly on the bed, brushing sleep from his eyes. the first thing he reaches for is his camera, set just below the bed. somehow the worn suede strap always feels comforting, like a piece of home shane can carry around.

brendon enters from the bathroom, wet head with a towel around his waist. he smiles, 'morning,' and shakes out his head, reaching for clothes, slipping out of his towel.

shane politely doesn't look, but not for lack of interest. it's a good sign of boundaries, that brendon isn't modest, shane thinks. it will be easier for him to relax into shane's eyes on him constantly, behind a lens or not.

'where to, today?' brendon asks, shimming into jeans.

shane doesn't know, doesn't care. 'where ever we end up,' he says.

brendon grins, the sun catching along fly-away strands of his hair. 'where are we even?' he asks, still grinning, sticking out an arm to feel the wind.

shane shakes his head from behind the camera, eye cramping to catch every detail through the small lens. brendon does a sort of lopsided pirouette, and shane is torn between catching his legs, the way the high grass and sparse dried wheat catch along his denim jeans, and watching his face, the bright smile and laugh that catches in the back of shane's spine along with the wind.

earlier they caught a ride with a trucker, brendon chatted with him while shane paned across the silver siding of fourteen wheeler. his name was tom, he dropped out of college and took the first job that promised travel and solitude, but shane didn't hear much else, more engrossed in the highway outside and how the sun makes prisms around brendon through the charms hanging off the mirror.

tom asked where they wanted to get off, and brendon picked an empty field across from a small village on a whim. shane followed.

they find another motel, it looks exactly like the one before. shane doesn't actually like hotels, motels, they make him itch for the outside because there is only a few possible ways the scene inside each can change.

'what are you getting out of this?' brendon asks him, shuffling cards found in the nightstand drawer. 'the filming, i mean.'

shane thinks about it for a while, 'it's a different perspective,' he says, almost unsure about vocalizing what it all means to him - the art, the weight of the camera in his hands, watching and really seeing even from a limited perspective. 'and it gives me the chance to see more, i guess.'

brendon hums a little. shane doesn't know what else to say. brendon asks, 'why film me?'

shane doesn't know, actually, he was drawn to brendon, watching him walk around the parking lot of the little diner shane ended up at after catching a ride to anywhere. he had his guitar and smiled and yet shane knew he probably didn't even know where, exactly he was and that he didn't care.

it was enticing, the thought of being like that, too. what better way to learn than to follow someone carefree like that?

'you seemed an interesting subject,' shane tells him.

brendon grins, 'good to know.'

morning finds shane and brendon in another tiny diner, this time with chairs that don't push into shane's spine.

shane was never really a breakfast person, rushing out in the mornings before class with just a cup of coffee or nothing at all. brendon seems to take breakfast as a personal challenge to eat as much as possible for the least amount of money.

the coffee in this diner is bitter, gritty. when shane gets down to the bottom of the cup there are swirls of grain sticking, and he picks up his camera to use them as a transitional shot.

'how can that possibly be interesting?' brendon asks. shane is mildly thankful that he swallowed his food when he aims the camera upward.

shane shrugs, setting the camera back down.

brendon groans, patting at his stomach. 'where to today?'

it rains. it rains all day, and shane spends 45 minutes staring at droplets pounding against the little window in the motel room while brendon takes another shower.

'i think we should get to know each other,' brendon says, out of the shower and smelling clean. his towel hangs low on his hips, bleach bright white.

shane sits up, settling against the headboard and flexing his hands on the strap of his camera. he doesn't have much film left - too lazy earlier to transfer it on to his hard drive. "we can do that," he says.

brendon bounces onto his bed. "how about twenty questions?" he asks.

shane is tired, unreasonably so, but brendon is a lot of energy to deal with and capture all the time. "how about questions until i pass out?" he reasons, a little yawn for emphasis.

brendon grins, "deal, i'll go first." he taps at his chin, shane zooms in all the way to the tips of his fingers, where the skin around brendon's nails is rough and calluses from guitar strings are visible along the pads. "tell me about your first kiss."

laughing, shane stretches, explains about the sweet girl next door that his mom and dad probably wanted him to marry. they probably wanted him to live with her down the street in his little suburban town where all the houses looked the same and have three kids who were all respectable people who served their country. (shane doesn't say all that, exactly, because the director doesn't need to be heard or seen. just there to observe.)

'my turn,' shane says. he taps his chin with his free hand, thinking. 'tell me about love,' he settles on.

'i don't know,' brendon says, turning to lay on his stomach, chin propped up on one hand. his eyes bore into the camera, and shane swallows, tight. 'i don't know if i've ever been in love.'

'why don't you know?' shane asks, quiet.

brendon rolls over again, restless, kicking up a pillow with his foot, onto his lap. shane takes his face away from the lens, adjusting the angles, catching the dim light of the motel lamp. 'no one has ever loved me,' brendon says, shrugging at the ceiling, rolling his eyes back to glance at shane, 'so how would i?'

shane reaches out to brush his free hand along brendon's arm, down his ribs to the point where his thin cotton shirt rides up, watching brendon still under the touch. brendon's looking at him, veiled curiousness, eyelids drooping and shane turns away, back to the camera.

brendon is quiet for a second, fidgeting slightly. shane can feel his uneven breaths from where his fingers lay against the indent of brendon's ribs. 'look what i can do, dude,' brendon says after a pause, and shane sits back, capturing brendon tossing the cheap white pillow from his feet to his head and back again.

shane laughs, 'awesome,' and shakes his head, taking a breath and closing the camera.

shane wakes up with his stomach grumbling in the morning, and a dull ache in his head. brendon is no where to be found in their ratty room.

he's just about to wander outside and look for a little greasy spoon for eggs when brendon pops in the door, breathless and with a big grin. 'you wanna go out tonight?' he asks.

shane shrugs, shouldering his camera bag, 'as long as we can get food now.'

  
they meet this kid, man, ryan at a little backwoods party. someone tells brendon about it, and shane finds himself dragged to a smokey bonfire, harsh against his eyes and nose.

'brendon,' he says, filming brendon's feet, the way they push against twigs, small cracks echoing against the sparks from the flames ahead. whatever he was about to say is drowned out by new music, the dim tuning of a plucky-string instrument, a banjo. off-kilter beats of a tribal like drum.

brendon laughs when shane bumps into him, busy capturing the flames licking against the rubber soles of a vaguely clean-cut man, pipe in hand and smoke rings escaping from his parted lips. 'sit,' brendon says, pulling him down.

shane finally takes in the scene with both eyes, blinking around.

'you play?' someone asks from the side, indicating brendon's guitar, beat up and against his back.

'of course,' brendon says, tilting his head to look at the stranger. shane would look, too, but his eyes follow the line of brendon's jaw instead.

ryan plays banjo, but also guitar. he lives in the woods and can make head wreaths from tree bark strips with wildflowers woven between. shane knows enough to know that brendon is immediately enthralled, and instead of letting himself think about it too much, he films the other people around the fire, playing rough, organic beats, laughing and drinking and smoking until one by one they disappear amongst the trees.

'i'm going to stay for a few days, i think,' brendon says, not looking at the camera, even though it's pointed at him. he says it like he almost doesn't know shane is attached to his hip, anyways, willing.

shane looks at him, says plainly, 'okay.' brendon smiles, and turns, telling ryan something, though it's muted to shane, he's focused on the scene, anyways, getting the shot of the way brendon's hair shines almost blue in the red light cast over them.

sleeping in the woods is unlike sleeping in a field. the woods are closed, and twigs poke hard into shane's back, even with the mat provided for him to lay on. the harsh smoke smell of the fire still tinges the air and shane sniffs, turning over.

there are around ten people sleeping around them, scattered around the clearing in the woods. shane reminds himself that this is what he wanted when he set out from home, something organic and real. something runs across his forearm - maybe just the wind - but shane scoots to his right quickly, pushing into brendon's space.

brendon makes a sleepy noise, curling a little closer. 'i just, there was a bug,' shane whispers, but brendon doesn't hear.

shane falls asleep easy after, nose more full of brendon's scent then the burnt out fire.

  
ryan's fingers move deftly, even though his shoulders are tense. shane suspects it's because of the camera, but he's not really being invasive, just watching the way brendon tries to follow ryan's lead, fingers moving clumsily around the strips of bark root and stems of wildflowers.

brendon snaps a twig in half, and shane jerks, startled, enough to catch the way the hairs on the back of ryan's neck stand up, and how he twitches, slightly. but it's not about him, shane isn't about him, so the focus leads itself back to brendon, his apologetic grin, the disastrous weeds in his palms.

'here,' ryan says to brendon, tightening a knot to the point shane thinks the bark will split, fall apart, 'look.' he places a woven wreath on the crown of brendon's head, dark browngrey bark with a thin white in-between, birch, maybe. there are little yellow flowers evenly spaced, too pretty to be buttercups, but shane never knew much about wildlife, anyways.

'how do i look?' brendon asks, reaching up to touch.

ryan presses along brendon's forearm, long fingers, almost throwing a shadow along the fine hairs, even though the camera sees it different. he doesn't say anything, but brendon lets out a breath, looking at ryan from under his eyelids.

shane almost wants to leave, because for once he doesn't actually want to watch, doesn't want to play back in his head and scrutinize for details he's missed. he compromises, closing the camera and laying back, one arm over his eyes. brendon pokes into his side, 'lazy', but his voice is lost soon enough, muted words to ryan and soft laughter, melding together with the talk of the other people around them.

brendon presses into his thigh, later, and wraps a little woven bracelet around his wrist. 'i'll be back,' he says, and shane wonders what he'll miss by not following, then doesn't want to think about what he could, and occupies his time alone with a dull numbness, warm from the sun, waiting for brendon to return.

  
already shane is itching to get out of the woods. it's nice, the atmosphere and all the people, it all feels like what he wanted back when he left home in search of something. except now all the scenes are too full, jumbled, and he feels almost like he can't focus on brendon as well, with all these people competing for his time, with ryan always close by his side. this, whatever it is, all these moments shane has captured so far, it's about brendon. brendon is what shane has found to be his _something_ and all the noise and clutter of being in the woods is making everything cluttered.

it's been a week now and shane doesn't mind sleeping on the ground, or the twigs in his back (brendon sleeps close by, warm when the wind picks up, and that's always nice),but he's starting to miss a bed and is running out of battery and tape back ups in addition to all the one-on-one time with brendon.

he's itching to get out, yes, but he's not going to push brendon to leave. brendon may not know it, but for shane he's leading the way through whatever journey they have started.

brendon's missing when shane wakes, sometime late but still early, a sliver of the moon peaking through branches. shane reaches over, runs his hand along dry earth where brendon's body should be.

he can hear them before he sees them, crouching along side some ashes and charred wood. it's so obviously brendon, his gasp, rough. it's not something shane's heard before, exactly, but he can tell.

maybe it's something he shouldn't be seeing, the pale expanse of ryan's back between brendon's legs, lean and sharp where his shoulder blades push out, the skin tight around them, glowing bluegreen in the minimal light. but shane's seen enough personal moments from behind glass and a little screen that he's numb to the feeling of intrusion.

brendon is shadowed, leaning against a tree, and shane thinks of the angle he'd shoot, brendon's bare back pushed against the bark, the red raw indents he'd get when it was all over, bits of sticky sap along his hairline.

'ryan,' brendon breaths, cutting into the night, a bad note along the rhythm of crickets and late night birds. in his head, shane hears his own name.

  
shane finally finds himself without a camera the next evening. his hands feel empty without it, numb even though the newly risen bonfire throws warmth through his fingers. he was waiting for it to happen, all his back up sources of power and time to run out. he can feel the space where the camera belongs, and the imaginary indent where it loops around his shoulder, but it's not there and that's strange.

there's another large group of people, tonight, gathered around with instruments and pipes and chattering around smoke. shane frames the scenes in his mind, pays attention, listening briefly to the back stories of the people, wondering if they came from 9 to 5 jobs, or if they have kids.

the focus, of course, shifts to brendon, the way he's pressed half into ryan, sharing a log that wasn't meant for two people. he plays the guitar with his head tipped back, and ryan watches appreciatively, hands swiftly working knots into hemp string.

when brendon starts singing, there is too much to focus on, people gather around, watching. ryan seems pleased, joining in on his own guitar, a complementary melody, and others join. shane longs for the camera, to catch it all, especially the fullness of brendon's voice, and the radiant smile from all of the attention.

  
shane loses track of time after another few days. he gets one of the guys to lead him out of the woods at one point, so he can fix up his camera and also eat some real food. brendon tags along, and the guy (shane can't remember his name, really, he looks like a lot of the people from the woods) stays back at the edge of the forest.

'i wonder what they do in the winter,' brendon asks as they hit the blacktop in stride, heading towards a local convenience mart.

shane shrugs. the light in brendon's hair is especially nice in the open expanse of the parking light, different and refreshing compared to the shadows and green hued light of the forest-camp. 'ryan doesn't look like he's ever lived out of the woods,' shane says after a few beats. he thinks about asking if brendon knows otherwise, but at a glance brendon's face closes up just slightly.

when they leave the store, later, shane fiddling with the focus lens on his camera, settling on the back of brendon's head, brendon says, uncharacteristically small, 'i think we should leave, soon.'

shane would agree, but he gets too caught up in something behind brendon's eyes, trying to get it on film without being obvious, but he knows when he looks back later it will be as much as a mystery as it is now. brendon is a mystery and shane likes that. maybe too much.

  
'shane', brendon says, his voice dark, and shane has the decency to lower his camera, stepping back, even if he doesn't leave.

brendon focuses on ryan, up to where he's sitting on a low branch of the tree above them. he touches ryan's ankle, reaching up, running his fingers around the back, into the indentations in a way that makes shane ache, to frame the shot and maybe for something deeper.

'i can't stay, ryan.' brendon is frowning, still playing against the soft skin of ryan's foot, 'i need to move around, you know.'

it's personal and tight, the scene, something that should hold no one else in the frame, but shane stays, something dark in his chest.

'if i was enough, you'd stay,' ryan says, and it's not even biting, it's soft but raw. 'people come and go, always, i know how to forget easily, anyway.'

'i'm sorry,' brendon says, high in his throat. he's looking up at ryan, but ryan's not looking at him, instead looking directly at shane.

they walk through the woods, some complicated path, shane just following brendon, staring at his feet, the complicated motions of the tendons. 'i couldn't, couldn't stay,' brendon tells him, ducking under a branch. 'you wouldn't have stayed,' he says, quiet.

shane swallows, following.

  
shane keep keeps checking to see if brendon is okay, the next day. he pays extra attention with the camera on brendon's eyes as they travel through the next few towns. he doesn't understand what happened back at the woods (he's not sad to have left, now that the focus can switch back to brendon. just brendon.) he's not going to explicitly ask, though, and brendon doesn't seem like he has much to say on the subject.

sometimes, at night, laying in hot motel rooms (unless they are lucky enough to find one with air, which is always, always nice) shane wonders what they are really doing. what all his filming is going to end up being, what he and brendon can make it. if it's worth it. but brendon always laughs from the bed beside him, or makes a noise in his sleep, and shane decides it doesn't matter.

  
they find a carnival about a week and a half after the woods. shane still doesn't know how much time they spent there, and although he doesn't generally talk about it, brendon isn't quite sure how much time they spent there either. the weather is slowly changing, cooling off in increments more noticeable as they cross state lines, hitching rides or using motel money for a greyhound.

it's just fallen to dusk when brendon spots the carnival. he jumps a few steps and shane stops walking backwards where he was trying to capture the last dredges of redyelloworange from the sunset.

'this is a no camera zone,' brendon announces when they reach the ticket booths.

shane looks around for a sign announcing so and brendon laughs at him.

'this is my rule for tonight,' he says.

the lights of the rides are enticing, more so as the sky slips into an inky black. shane is already framing shots in his head, picturing it, but brendon's face is open and earnest.

it's almost a big deal, shane could make it a big deal. brendon has only once before asked shane to go sans camera, but shane obliges this time  
for him, and they enter the gates. brendon still may not know it but he's leading the production, here, and shane will always listen to what he has to say.

being without a camera with no one else distracting brendon is strange. brendon tugs on shane's hand, carefree and loose toward the ferris wheel. shane never really has a free hand the feeling is new, the weight. it's good.

'i love being up this high,' brendon says, a sort of childlike wonder in his eyes as he leans against the cage metal of their basket on the ferris wheel.

shane tries hard not to keep watching everything out of focus. brendon obviously wanted him to look differently at things tonight but it's always been hard to adjust perspectives.

they stop a few baskets from the top, swinging there slightly. brendon tugs at shane's shoulder to look at the view. everything backlights brendon's features, the miniature neon town set below them, he almost looks severe with his cheekbones shadowed, eyes almost lost in profile.

brendon turns around slowly, but not slowly enough that shane can turn his attention elsewhere, doing something other than stare at brendon's face.

'you always do that,' brendon says. he sighs a little and shane is a little caught off guard. 'you never look at everything, even when i try and make you, you just focus on one thing.'

stupidly, shane feels his own lips shaping the the word 'you' at brendon, an action his brain certainly wasn't in on.

brendon contemplates him, and leans forward when their basket starts moving up again. their lips brush, just softly, and shane hopes that it wasn't just the movement of the ride, but feels too exposed to test it.

his perspective shifts rapidly, lips still against brendon's, moving more forcefully now. he sees the scene from outside, what they must look like, the tilt of brendon's throat and the way his hair must be falling. but then be also feels, the pressure of brendon right there, against his mouth, in his mouth, the way their forearms and thighs are touching.

brendon breaks off first, leaning his forehead against shane's. 'focus,' he says, a trace of something different in his voice, something more like the night in the woods. darker, almost.

they breathe like that until the ride completes is downward journey.

'i planned that differently,' brendon says when they exit the ride.

'you planned it?' shane asks, glancing over. brendon is smiling slightly, just the corners of his mouth.

'sort of,' brendon says. he pauses for a moment and shane deliberately lets their shoulders brush. 'i liked it anyway,' he concludes.

it takes the entire walk to the exit for shane to find his voice. 'me too,' he says.

  
they don't talk about it, exactly, and fall asleep in a field about a mile from the carnival. it's easier, now, to skip some night of motels, after sleeping in the woods for however long they were actually there. especially with the cooler weather.

shane lets brendon curl against his back, but doesn't turn over. all the lights of the rides gave the night a dream like feel, and shane replays it all in his head, everything he couldn't get on film, and falls asleep with a feeling of contentment.

'i have a new rule,' brendon announces the next morning.

shane has his camera balanced between the window and his coffee cup at the mom and pop diner they've landed in, and he looks up from it to watch brendon's expression change.

'there are going to be mandatory times where you have to see things without your camera,' he says, so casually that shane almost makes a face. it's daunting in a way, to be asked to change the perspective he's gone for so long seeing with. brendon wants him to see more than one thing and see it fully, he guesses, like when he couldn't at the carnival.

all shane comes up with is, 'but why?' the hand not holding his coffee absently plays with the camera strap.

brendon frowns a little. 'i want,' he starts, soft in a way that's almost self-conscious, which is new. 'i want to teach you to see differently, and. i know you film and that's great, what you do, but i never feel you are really seeing things, seeing me when a camera isn't there. and i want you to see all the things i see like i see them.'

shane exhales a little and nods his head at his coffee. brendon's face relaxes a fraction, and instead of filming him, shane films the way the light comes through the dusty diner blinds until the check comes.

  
the rule ends up not that hard to follow. shane still films most things, but brendon sometimes slows down, and they sit or lay together somewhere, just thinking and watching. it's different.

everything slows down at some point. fall is approaching even as brendon steers them south.

just outside of the carolinas brendon chooses a field for them, it's dense with sunflowers that are still standing high, and they push their way through them, the petals brushing just against shane's neck. in the middle of the field is a clearing, and brendon flops down, slipping the camera out of shane's hands and into it's bag before shane really realizes what's happening.

'what are we doing?' brendon asks after a while.

shane shrugs into the ground. little pieces of grass sticking through the cotton shirt he has on. 'i don't know,' he says honestly.

brendon hums, something absent that shane feels is made up. brendon doesn't play his guitar much, not since the woods. he hums still, though, and shane finds a strange comfort in the sound. 'did we ever know?' brendon counters eventually.

'do you want to continue? i mean, with me,' shane braves,turning on his side. it seems silly to hold his breath, like brendon might want to stop, after all this non-direction. if he did shane isn't sure what he'd do. brendon is just a living, breathing extension of him now. it's a strange thought, but comforting just like brendon's humming.

brendon laughs, loudly, and turns on his side to face shane, 'no,' he says, seriously.

shane flips to his back again, grinning at the sky and flexing his hand on the camera bag strap. 'good.'

if beginnings are always simple but impulsive, then the middle of a story should be normalcy with his a hint of irrational behavior, which all makes way for a comfortable end.

shane is learning, in some ways, a new way to see, and he watches brendon from behind the camera and away from it. focusing and then taking in the big picture. brendon gets more focused in a way, too. they fall into a pattern of sleeping in one-bed motel rooms, or wrapped around each other any play that the earth is particularly forgiving when the weather is warm.

  
they get a motel room in a place with a flickering neon sign. the bathroom has moths. and yet, shane is comfortable, laying on the edge of the bed, soft-focusing on brendon at the other end, shirtless and practically glowing, reading something he picked up in the lobby.

'put it away,' brendon says after a while of comfortable silence. shane hastens to turn off the camera, not blinking away from the pale glow of brendon's skin. against the small lamp, the coziness of the tiny motel room his skin is almost it's a light of it's own, and shane is drawn to it.

brendon's eyes are intent on the ceiling, and he's frowning. shane brushes his fingers along his forearm, feeling the rise of the skin, the soft scattering of hairs.

'you always watched, but you were never looking,' brendon tells him, tracing patterns against the sheets. he sounds like he's concluding some great thought.

'i'm sorry,' shane says, because it's not a scene playing out in his head right now, and it's the truth.

brendon sits up, shaking off shane's hand, coming up to his face. he burrows his face into the crook of shane's neck, warm and damp where he takes a breath.

shane doesn't -- his hands lay limp along the scratchy bed covers, and he looks at his own knuckles. they don't glow in the light, they aren't pale and smooth, and they feel misplaced against brendon's skin.

'i want to make it better, brendon, i see you more now,' shane says, grasping at what they must look like, what he'd see if he looked through the lens, down at them, across from them, but nothing comes.

brendon sits back, 'you're just saying that because it would sound right on camera,' he says, eyes flashing, 'this is what you do, damn it, shane, stop thinking like that.'

he surges forward, and shane almost expects a punch, to be toppled off the bed and onto the fifth-ridden carpets, but brendon captures his lips, instead. it's hard, and not at all like the softness they usually have, a feeling of almost being afraid to get in too deep (as if it wasn't obvious they already are.) shane does as he's told with the persuasion of brendon's tongue, hot on his own lips, and gives into feeling.

brendon rucks up his shirt, in charge of the scene, except for where it's not something to share, not a scene, and shane almost laughs, relieved in some stupid small way that brendon still wants this, wants him.

he breathes into brendon's neck, smiling against the slight film of sweat there, darting out his tongue to swipe along the curve up to his jaw.

shane wakes up with brendon pressed along his side in the morning. brendon stirs a bit, 'are you here?' he asks.

shane doesn't know quite what that means, but threads his hand through brendon's hair.

brendon smiles sleepily, 'where's your camera?'

'i don't know,' shane tells him, after a pause. in his head it comes out i don't care and that's sort of a scary thought, but exciting. (it's beside the bed, resting half under the bed skirt, but shane makes no move for it, anyways.)

'good,' brendon says, and shane turns just in time for the press of brendon's lips on his own, down his jawline.

brendon pulls him into the shower, later, presses against shane's back under the spray. 'this is nice,' shane says, thoughts spilling outward.

brendon kisses along shane's collarbone, and shane can't help but frame the shot in his head for a second, brendon's pale skin against his own chest, a few shades darker.

shane slides down, knees on the porcelain, nosing along brendon's hip. his mind wanders to the woods, pale back belonging to a different person in the same position shane is now, but this is different, he knows.

brendon comes with a gasp on an exhale, shane's name tumbling from his lips in a tone shane has heard before, but it's so much more now. so much.

  
shane's not sure when the shift in his thinking happens, exactly. he knows he when he really notices though, waking up on anonymous midwest morning #134 with brendon curled against his side, warm and heavy.

he wakes up, then, slow and hazy in the best possible way, stretching the weight out of his muscles, until the only weight left on his body is brendon to his side and shane doesn't have the heart to take that away. couldn't if he tried.

brendon makes a noise, turning into his collarbone, and shane feels it when he breathes in and out, so real, finally. he can feel it but he isn't picturing it, he isn't analyzing angles and how the shot could be framed. all this is, it's just learning to feel and love and be the star in his own picture.

the new story of his life.

shane leans in, down, and brushes his forehead against brendon, watching when brendon opens his eyes slowly, grinning sleepily.

'thank you,' shane says. brendon looks puzzled, happy, tired and content, and shane is quick to kiss the crease from his forehead. 'thank you for everything.'


End file.
